


Epicurean

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 11:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: Smoke and steam were so very similar- and yet different. Steam was light and dew-damp; like brisk mornings and thick afternoons.Smoke felt so much more heavy, like ancient secrets and cultish hymns in the dark.And yet, both mingled between the slats of their vents like fingers, like butterfly kisses from a favored hedonist.





	Epicurean

Drift grinned, smoke leaking from between his fangs like dragon’s breath- like hellfire, or a deity’s forge. He spoke in distant thunder and gentle rainfall, offering a new kind of holy incense to Perceptor.

Perceptor, drawn tight and nearly quarted by the strnagling hold of his own expecations. And when Perceptor exhaled matching blue-green-pink smoke like airborne pearls Drift laughed.

And smoke trailed from their vents, intermingling with steam like their servos folded together into an anchor of reality. And they traded exhalations like prayers between god and apostle; like a saint and his sin in eternal wistful battle they pushed and pulled and touched and parted.

Their kisses were slow burning like midnight embers and wreathed in earthly delights that drifted through the air in smogclouds of quiet gasps and whispers.

Glossae slid against and over- kissing deeper and deeper until they wondered if you could take a mech’s life with nothing more than the touch of mouths. And like an ourobouros, they devoured. Drift laughed quietly as Perceptor nipped at grey neckcables, only to gasp sharply fro a tug to the coolant lines that linked to the bottom of his chestplate.

Like a devil in Gabriel’s own robe, Drift purred praise into Perceptor’s audials only to hiss in pleasure at the grasping touches from aristocratic hands on white plating.

They wrapped around each other like the serpents of a caduceus; healing the raw wounds of shy hesitance with every kiss and every touch and every sound that slipped free like the smoke around them.

Drift pressed his thigh against Perceptor’s panel; feeling the heated metal flex and bend and purring as the sniper arched from the contact.

“That’s it…”, he growled, hungry and heady and all manner of hedonistic; and Perceptor’s hips rocked with each gasp and moan that slid from the sniper’s vocalizer. 

Black hands were grasping at white plating again, leaving charcoal streaks like warpaint as baby-blue optics rolled back in overload. Drift’s finials tilted back, and he shuddered in a smaller climax as the crackling arcs of charge and lust grounded in his own plating and singed his sensornet with drunken desire.

The samurai took another drag, holding it in until he could seal his lipplates over Perceptor’s again- and the scientist trembled again with a moan,inhaling and Drift exhaled.

And they lived on the edge of one breath for a moment, wrapped tightly with and without each other like the cycles of suns and moons long since spun to stardust.


End file.
